


Fortune's Cup

by SirJosephBanksFRS



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:26:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1928316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SirJosephBanksFRS/pseuds/SirJosephBanksFRS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of term at Sant Cugat del Vallès, Stephen Maturin forswears playing dice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortune's Cup

It was the last day of the spring term and Don Ramón d'Ullastret i Casademón had come two days before from Ullastret to Barcelona, descending down to the heat and lush floral explosion that was the city in late May. In addition to transacting business, he had travelled in order to retrieve his godson for the summer from Sant Cugat del Vallès, the Benedictine monastery and school in the northern outskirts of Barcelona. The afternoon sun pounded on Ramón’s bare head as he left the chaise and walked up slowly, his hat in his hands, admiring the very large and handsome romanesque cloister and garden, still awe-inspiring despite the general dilapidation of the monastery after its hard use during the Spanish War of Succession and the ongoing repairs. The prefect, Brother Jordi, had seen Ramón approach, bowed and told him he would find Stephen in the monastery's library.

Don Ramón opened the massive oak door to the silent, sacred repository and smiled, seeing Stephen sitting alone near a stained glass window, his head in a book. Ramón's smile dropped as he saw his _fillol_ look up, lowering the book that had obstructed his _padrì's_ gaze from his freshly blackened left eye. Ramón closed the door and sat next to Stephen, taking the book out of his hands, placing it beside him. He took both of Stephen's hands in his own.

" _El meu fill_ , what is the meaning of this?" Ramón said, gently. Stephen's face flushed and he averted his eyes from Ramón's gaze and said nothing for a very long time. "With whom have you fought and why?"

 **** _"El meu Padrí, perdoneu_ ; it was a matter of honour," Stephen said very quietly, turning away, not able to look in Ramón's face. "And _Padrí,_ I must beg you to lend me money, if you please."

"Eh, how much then?" Ramón said, sighing very softly.

"Two hundred _escudos_." Ramón steeled himself as to not betray any reaction to the news that Stephen wanted twelve and a half _reales,_ a huge amount of money for a twelve year old boy, over an ounce and a half of pure gold, as it represented more money than the majority of Catalans would earn in an entire year.

"May I ask why you need two hundred _escudos_ , if you please?" Ramón said evenly and not unkindly.

"I owe it to someone," Stephen said and his lips pursed tightly.

"Did you borrow it?"

"No," Stephen said very quietly and his face went crimson.

"Then?" Ramón said, searching his face.

"I wagered and lost it," Stephen said, his voice breaking.

"Were you beaten for not paying your debt?"

"No, Padrí. It was a matter of honour, truly." Ramón frowned.

"Well, I must go see Father Jacinto. Go make certain you are completely packed. I shall meet you back here," Ramón said. "You shall have the money within the hour."

 

 ****  
The priest, Father Jacinto Bonaventura, an amiable late middle aged man poured Don Ramón a glass of Tarragona and Ramón took a sip as the Benedictine sat down behind the massive table that served as his desk. The sun shone through the palms on either side of the large window behind the priest and through the Mediterranean honeysuckle that climbed around the open windows, perfuming the air.

"Do you know with whom l’Estevet has fought and why?" Ramón said, leaning back in the thickly upholstered chair.

"My dear Cousin, there are no secrets in a monastery, surely you remember that. He fought with en Pere Montjuich i Puyol, a boy in his form," Father Bonaventura said, draining his own glass and wiping his mouth on a snowy linen napkin.

"Was it the loss of the money?" Ramón said, placing his glass on the table.

"No. That boy loathes l’Esteven, because he makes him look a simpleton. Not intentionally, mind you. He is the largest and eldest boy in the form and l’Esteven is the slightest and youngest. There are two years between them. It is not lost on en Pere that l’Esteven is the premier student in his form. This year has been particularly hard for en Pere. He is staying here for the summer for remedial work, a fact that displeases him greatly. He has nursed this grudge, looking for the way to wipe your _fillol's_ eye and discovered it here, playing _El_ _Azar,_ " The priest said, placing dice on the table. "Weighted, naturally. Poor l’Esteven was taken in entirely."

"So he did not have the money and the boy beat him for it?"

"No. L’Esteven played and won and then played and lost and lost and lost for he knew the probabilities and he could not conceive how he lost so many times until it came upon him and he said aloud, "Ah, just so, _llavors_ : you have cheated.""

"So, en Montjuich beat him for the accusation?"

"No. En Montjuich said, "You only say so to get out of paying what you owe me, Maturin, for you are a dirty, lying bastard and the whole school knows it, you fatherless son of a whore," I am very sad to tell you, Don Ramón. So, l’Esteven immediately punched him in the face, breaking his nose and en Pere blackened his eye before they could be separated." Ramón sighed.

"The punishment?"

"We do not punish on the last day of term, which en Pere fully knows. I do ask, Don Ramón, that you give l’Esteven the money now so he might pay the miscreant off and Brother Jordi might confiscate it and return it to you immediately."

"Of course," Ramón said.

"L’Esteven is a remarkable boy. We have never had a brighter student, not in my memory, in any case. Shall I start to pursue a dispensation for him, Cousin? I may write to Lisbon. He is turning into a truly formidable scholar. His memory is astonishing, he is virtually a savant. Father Josep Maria, the abbot of Montserrat, examined him when he came to Barcelona and was extremely pleased with him. L’Esteve learns without being punished -- not one stropping ever, whereas that poor blockhead en Pere has been beaten weekly this year, little good has it done. He has all the wit of a _xirivia,_ " Jacinto said, thinking of the prior evening's tasteless parsnips. Ramón did not answer, but frowned slightly.

"Is l’Esteve popular with his fellows?" Ramón asked, looking at the glass he held.

""Popular?"" Father Jacinto said, frowning. Popularity was not a trait regarded favourably by the Benedictines.

“Well-liked?” Ramón said. The priest looked out the window.

"The brighter boys admire him very greatly. He is likeable enough, modest about his considerable talents, kind, helpful. But there is something, Ramón, he stands apart from them. He is with them, but not of them, not truly. I see him in observation of them, as though he were studying a flock of sheep. I have wondered if it was his sensibility because of his lack of birth, because he is an orphan. His reserve is profound. If he were not so bookish, not so wrapped up in his own mental world, it would be somewhat disturbing, this distance he evinces. He is given to extreme ire over what he perceives as an intentional slight, though the degree of his self-possession is unbelievable for one so young, the degree to which he is capable of holding himself back. This is the first serious physical altercation we have ever seen. His pride is very great, so great it is a weakness. En Montjuich could not goad him any other way and so he contrived this situation to call l’Esteven a bastard to his face in front of an audience to provoke him."

"Thank you for this, Jacinto," Ramón said, rising. "I have been dreading this day, _Déu n'hi do_. Of course, it was inevitable."

 

Ramón found Stephen in the library. He closed the door and sat down next to him.

"Esteven, my dear, I shall give you the money as a present on one condition," Ramón said. "You must give me your solemn oath that you will never wager playing dice ever again. Cards are fine and we shall play cards for many hours this summer, but dice are the sport of cheats and thieves. There is no skill in it. Not that you shall ever gamble here in Sant Cugat, of course, since it is against the rules. Do you so swear?"

"I do," Stephen said very seriously and Ramón put a purse in his hand.

"Go now and attend to your business," Ramón said. “I shall await you here.”

Stephen did so and when he returned, Ramón took his hand and looked up into his godson's face as Stephen stood before him, looking him very solemnly in the eye.

" _El meu fill_ , a gentleman does not defend his honour with his fists and you need not fight a child so far beneath you as to utter lies about you based on jealousy."

"I did not strike him because he told lies, _Padrí_. I struck him for what he said that was true." Ramón looked at him very somberly. "I am not so thick, I can see that he hates me for my marks, because he is no scholar. He has called me _el petit gripau_ of the fathers and brothers all year long. I turned a deaf ear to him the whole of first term and then, after Christmas, he started to whisper every time I passed him, _"fill bastard_ ," under his breath but loud enough that anyone in any close proximity could hear. He said it as much as ten times daily. Yesterday, others said it as well. That is why I struck him, for what he said aloud, so that every boy in school should not be at liberty to insult me to my face. I should do it all over again, I fear." Ramón said nothing, grasping Stephen's hand very firmly as tears smarted in his own eyes and he blinked them away, looking down so Stephen should not see them.

"Come, now, my dear Esteve," Ramón said, and he rose, his voice hoarse and he cleared his throat. "L’Oncle Mateu and a very fine _dinar_ await us. We leave for Ullastret the day after tomorrow," Ramón said, shaken by the realisation that Stephen had most certainly intended to play dice and lose to force Montjuich's hand to call him out, that he had masterfully and deeply played Montjuich, indeed, far more masterfully than many adult men Ramón had seen attempt the same feat.

As he looked at Stephen’s thin form before him, Ramón decided the time had come. He would take the boy tomorrow to procure a short sword in order that Stephen might now begin to learn how and when to practise the noble art and not defend his honour with his bare fists. Ramón d'Ullastret i Casademón closed the solid door behind them as they walked into the bright afternoon sun.

 


End file.
